


A Life Without You

by Rhaized



Series: Adventures of Mary and Marisa [17]
Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, But of course she really does, Even if she doesn't want for it to be, F/F, Leaving, Marisa knows deep down she is doing the right thing, Overthinking, She tries so hard to be tough and not to feel, poor mary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:01:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29764842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhaized/pseuds/Rhaized
Summary: "I've hurt people before," Marisa said then, voice low and eyes hard. "People I was supposed to love. People I did love. I hurt them. I hurt them all so badly. You don’t want me in your life.""I don't care," Mary insisted, stepping toward her, foot hesitant and eyes full of feeling. Mary was always full of such pure, unadulterated feeling. Marisa could barely breathe as she basked in all that feeling coursing around them, charged in the air like the very particles they both dedicated their lives trying to understand. "I really don't, Marisa. I want you. All of you.""But you shouldn't," Marisa whispered, feeling something hot and stinging threaten to spill from her eyes before she adjusted her bag and stepped onto the train, not looking back at the redhead with the defeated expression and slumped shoulders.—or—Marisa leaves, because she loves Mary enough to know it's not good for her to stay.
Relationships: Marisa Coulter/Mary Malone
Series: Adventures of Mary and Marisa [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2073954
Comments: 13
Kudos: 20





	A Life Without You

Mary liked to sleep in late on the weekends, which was such a foreign concept to Marisa. 

The entire notion of weekends in this world were quite different. Boreal had once described this world to her as a culture of consumerism, of materialism and desire and not one of faith or of virtue. Whereas the people of her world went to church services every weekend and sought a life balanced between religious devotion and family fulfillment, the people here sought their  _ own _ happiness and their _ own _ meaning in life. Boreal painted this as selfish and as horrid and as completely barbaric, but Marisa saw the beauty of this world and the people in it. Especially when it came to Mary.

Marisa brought her focus to Mary's face as she soundly slept on the left side of the bed—of  _ their  _ bed, as Mary had made clear, since Marisa spent all her time at Mary's house even if she didn’t officially reside there. She was peaceful as she slept. Light and pure, like crisp dew in the early morning. Fresh and not yet tainted by the day's sunburn. Ready for the day to begin. Unsuspecting and unaware of what would come.

_ What are you doing?  _ her daemon yawned in her mind as she went over to the closet, steps so soft they might not have even occurred. He waited a while as she eased the sliding door open and then squinted inside, searching the top shelf until she found a purple bag.  _ You can't be serious,  _ he said then, his ears pricking there in the darkness as he realized what it was, exactly, that she was doing. 

Marisa was entirely serious as she reached up for her bag at the top of the rack, tugging at it until it came tumbling down into her arms. She then began to pile clothes in it as she saw them there on her side of the closet—blouses, sweaters, tank tops, skirts, pairs of pants. She slipped over to the dresser, too, where she grabbed some undergarments, stopping as she looked and saw a picture tucked away at the very back of the top drawer. 

It was Mary and another woman. She was blonde, with cloudy blue eyes and sun-kissed hair and olive tanned skin. She’d mentioned this woman a few times before. Jennifer, or  _ Jenny,  _ as Mary had called her. They’d met during graduate school and had fallen in love, bonding over too-strong coffee and impossible equations and an entire world and academic institution that seemed to be poised against them. They’d lived together then, too, and when Mary started work at Oxford and Jenny at Glasgow, they dated remotely and met up every few weekends whenever they could. They kept it up for a year or so before they realized it was too hard and it could never be enough for them, for what they both wanted from a relationship (and also their careers). 

_ This is what Mary needs,  _ Marisa thought as she looked at the picture. They were happy together, sitting on some kind of fountain at a park or something. Mary’s eyes glimmered so brightly in the sunshine, her arm slung comfortably around Jennifer’s shoulder as the blonde was laughing and leaning into Mary.  _ Something like this. Something I can never give her. _

She’d been thinking about this for a very long time, of course. Marisa didn’t make decisions lightly. Life was a calculation to her, made up of interconnected actants and nodes that intricately linked to one another. Everything thus happened over time and more than once. Her discomfort started as soon as they met, really, with Mary asking her where she’d gotten her doctorate and how theology played into science. There was a voice in her head even back then that echoed:  _ this isn’t right. This is too different. This is too much. _

But she ignored it, as she was prone to occasionally do. She went back to the office, back to Mary, and then started something that she wouldn’t be able to un-start and unsee. Mary was warmth and light and stability. After wandering through her world and this one and Cittàgazze like a ship lost at sea, Marisa clung to the normalcy Mary offered her. She cherished the comfort Mary offered after breaking down over coffee about the severity and gravity of her situation with Lyra and the Magisterium and Asriel and everything else in between. She couldn’t resist the safety that was Mary’s home and then the exhilaration that was Mary’s lips and curves and legs and bed.

Yet here they were, stuck at a standstill that neither one wanted to admit was there. They argued more frequently now, not sweetly about where they wanted to eat or who should decide which movie to watch but hotly about when each should be expected to call after being out late and how language and words have meaning and can hurt. Mary was loyal and persistent and forgiving, though, as she settled every argument and kissed Marisa softly before going to bed for the evening. Marisa would stay up simmering, however, and it took the monkey’s whimpering pleas for her not to roll over and wake Mary up to continue the argument.

Mary was still sleeping as Marisa shut the drawer and then opened another, throwing in her personal documents: the passport she’d had made, some important papers, copies of her certificates. Her daemon sat on the floor between the bed and the door staring at her.

_ Stop,  _ he instructed, and Marisa paused then at the inflection of his voice in her head. He didn’t speak aloud, but she could hear him clearly in her mind. His was deep yet soft, like a distant crack of thunder. It was normally so clear and even and poised yet currently was so  _ authoritative  _ in a way Marisa hadn’t quite ever heard before.

_ No,  _ she retorted, pulling herself away from his thoughts to zip her bag and then turn back over to the bed.

Mary was still sleeping, of course. She was a heavy sleeper. She’d once joked that she could get hit by a truck and not wake, which wasn’t entirely inaccurate since one evening a truck hit a car outside the house and the commotion had stirred Marisa yet hadn’t impacted Mary. Marisa felt herself chuckle softly at the memory, not even bothering to hold back the puff of noise because she knew Mary would never hear her and there was no worry of her waking up to try and stop her.

Try and stop her.  _ Would  _ Mary do such a thing? She was so soft. Shy. Considerate.

“Then go,” Mary had said calmly once during a particularly heated argument. “If you’re so sick of me then just go.”

Later that evening in bed, however, she’d gathered Marisa close to her and murmured, “I didn’t mean it, baby. Please don’t go. Don’t leave me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

A tight sensation tickled at Marisa’s throat as she continued to stare down at Mary. She was sleeping on her right side, as she always did, in her dark green camo pajamas that were old and well-worn but were her favorites and the ones she always wanted to wear after having a long day.

Mary was wonderful. She was sweet and endearing yet fierce and such an intelligent, compassionate scholar and mentor to everyone around her. She didn’t deserve  _ this,  _ what Marisa had to offer her. The mood swings, the envy, the insecure digs, the retreat into her own mind at the expense of everyone else’s. She deserved more than what Marisa was able to provide her. But being who she was, Mary just didn’t know how to give that to herself.

_ And so you’re making that decision  _ **_for_ ** _ her?  _ the monkey challenged as they left the bedroom and crept over toward the living room. Marisa went to the utility closet and got out her shoes and coat before going over to the kitchen table. Under a pile of papers lay hidden her travel plans, as she knew Mary was too cluttered to go through them and find them.

“It’s the only way to make it happen,” Marisa sighed, reaching down to take a look at a piece of paper printed out that had her train ticket. Paris.  _ La ville de l’amour.  _ She’d be going to Paris. She was fluent in French and the city was big enough to completely disappear. Mary wouldn’t be able to find her, even if she checked. And it was far enough away that she couldn’t do so easily.

_ But why do it?  _ he asked. He wasn’t begging, really, as he sat there on the table looking at her. He was perfectly still and poised as his little black eyes stared at her as she sifted through the paperwork and double-checked all the times and arrangements.

“You wouldn’t understand,” she responded finally, shrugging into her teal overcoat and shoving the papers into her pocket. He let out a growl, light yet menacing, as she then bent down to slip into her heeled boots before tucking her pair of flats and regular heels into her bag.

_ This is a mistake,  _ he said as she dug into her coat pocket and pulled out a lone, silver key. Marisa tilted it up to catch the light streaming in from the hallway. This was the key Mary had made for her a few months ago, when it was clear that Marisa was going to keep staying over and had even brought boxes of some of her things to unpack and store among Mary’s. Those things lay forgotten now, though, as Marisa stood there in the kitchen with her little purple bag. She had what she needed and then would figure out the rest later.

“I don’t need this,” she whispered, more for herself than for her daemon. He was still watching her closely, his eyes narrowed.

_ If you leave it then you can’t come back,  _ he said.  _ You’ll be leaving it here. Leaving her here. _

She was quiet a moment as she continued to gaze down at the key. It was very shiny, as it was only  _ just  _ recently made. It hadn’t yet spent countless hours rattling around in her purse or on a keychain and being thrown on tables and against counters and thus dulling and scratching. This key was meant to get chipped up and banged about. That was the nature of keys, to be used and then thrown aside and to capture the very mundane nature of one’s life.

“I know,” she muttered then, throwing it on the table, picking up her bag, and ushering for her daemon to follow, aware of him lingering before finally sauntering over to her side.

The cab ride to the train station was silent and painful. The golden monkey was pressed into her coat, as he didn’t want to go into her handbag just yet since he’d be there for the foreseeable future. She felt his heart beat against hers as they sat there in the back of the car, the driver not saying anything but probably filled with so many questions about why this beautiful woman was leaving this early in the morning looking so incredibly sad.

_ I’m not sad,  _ she tried to counter, but her daemon wouldn’t allow her.

_ You are,  _ he thought to her grimly.  _ You can pretend that you’re not and convince anyone who will listen that you’re not, but I feel it, Marisa. You’re sad. And I am too. _

She closed her eyes and did her best to drown it all out—the hum of the engine, the rotation of the tires, the wind wisping at the window, her daemon’s incessant thoughts and headache. When they finally reached the station she handed the man a stack of bills without saying anything and then found her way to the washroom.

Marisa was a mess. She dropped her bags on the ground (as grimy as it was) and leaned against the sink to look at herself. She had bags under her eyes from not having been able to sleep not only last night but the past several nights. Her makeup was smudged from the day before, as she hadn’t bothered to adjust it, and her skin overall looked so dull and pale and not at all as she’s used to seeing when she looks in the mirror.

_ Is this what you really want?  _ her daemon asked her, having jumped out of the coat and now sitting down next to the handbag, his shoulders hunched and his frame small as he peered up at her.

The truth was that Marisa didn’t know. That was part of the problem, perhaps: that she just didn’t know. What did she want? What was she doing? Where would she  _ go  _ and what would she  _ do? _ She’d never really been alone, as strange as that felt to admit to herself. She’d gotten married young and then lived the life of a politician’s wife before having her affair on and off as she lived by herself, technically, but in the service of the Church, and then with Lyra, and then again with the Church before stumbling into this world and crashing her way into Mary’s life.

_ We should go back,  _ the monkey tried.  _ Maybe she’s still sleeping. She won’t even know you’ve tried to leave. _

But it was too late now. Marisa knew that, and the monkey did, too. He didn't complain as she bent down and held open the handbag, her gaze settling on him. He didn’t look at her as he crept forward, placing one paw tentatively into the bag and then scooting himself inside with a little grunt as Marisa picked the bag up and swung it over her arm, leaning forward to grab the purple bag before sweeping out of the dimly-lit, tiled bathroom.

They walked around the small station for a bit, around the different platforms. Marisa’s mind was wandering as she waited the forty minutes until her train was supposed to depart. She thought about what the Paris of this world looked like and how much similar or different it’d be from the Paris of her world. She calculated how much of Boreal’s money she should exchange at the Paris station immediately upon arriving, and then how long she should wait until she creates a new account with the identity and numbers she'd had created and then how long it would take for her to find proper housing.

She thought about all of that while also none of it, as in the back of her mind she kept thinking about a bright-eyed redhead with an infectious smile, gentle laugh, and way of making you feel as though you were the most important person in any room.

“Marisa?”

At first Marisa thought she was imagining it, that voice. It had been an intense morning and a very long day already, even at this early hour. She hadn’t gotten any sleep at all, really, so her thoughts and her emotions were getting the better of her. It was all too much for her, and she was starting to lose grip of reality.

But as she turned around to her right, very casually as she didn’t expect much of anything, she  _ saw  _ her.

Mary was standing there, flannel shirt thrown on over the camo shirt she’d put on for bed the night before paired with her scroungiest pair of black sweatpants tucked into a pair of dark brown lace-up boots. Marisa stared at her, and the blue eyes boring into hers— _ piercing  _ her, questioning her, in awe of her while simultaneously afraid of her.

“Mary?” Marisa merely echoed, her voice low and tight as she blinked. The other woman was still there, short little figure standing a few feet away from her.

“I’d hoped I made it in time,” Mary began. “God, I wished  _ so  _ much that I’d make it, as I wasn’t sure which train you were on or when it’d be going.”

“What are you doing here, Mary?” The other woman stopped at that mid-sentence, her eyes widening as Marisa’s voice sharpened and she moved to cross her arms. “Why did you come?”

“To stop you,” Mary answered, as if it were the most obvious answer to a simple mathematical equation they taught to the undergraduates.

“Stop me?” Marisa repeated, letting out her best attempt at a snort and hoping it didn’t come across as weak as she felt. “How are you going to stop me, Mary? And what makes you think I  _ want  _ to be stopped?”

Marisa knew this was harsh. She didn’t need to see the surprise spread across Mary’s face and the pain radiate from her eyes. She didn’t need to hear Mary stammer out something about thinking she was having an anxiety attack and noticing she’d left her key and just feeling for a long time that something was  _ wrong.  _

“There is something wrong,” Marisa sighed, not able to look at her. The monkey was being insufferable, wanting to jump up and break free from the bag to run over to Mary. He might have well been  _ Mary’s  _ daemon for the ways in which his heart reached out for her, longed for her, pined for her in a way he only ever had for Marisa (if even that). It was unbearable, and Marisa squeezed the bag closer to her side as she cleared her throat and got on with it. “I don’t want to be with you anymore, Mary. We’re not right. This was never supposed to happen. And I thought I’d spare you the drama and just do us both a favor and leave.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie. Those are the very things Marisa had been telling herself for so many weeks now. This world was strange to her, foreign. The life of an academic was a bit stifling, especially given the work Marisa had to do if she ever wanted to rise the ranks. And Mary was too  _ sweet  _ and too  _ caring  _ and too  _ much  _ for Marisa to handle. She made Marisa  _ feel  _ things that she didn’t want to feel. She forced her to confront things about herself that she’d rather leave alone. 

Mary tried to make Marisa  _ better,  _ whereas Marisa knew she was already too flawed to be saved.

“I don’t understand,” Mary let out finally. Her voice was cracking as she again looked over at Marisa with such a profound sadness. “I know we’ve had a hard patch lately, but I...I just don’t get it. Why now? What have I done wrong?”

The monkey felt it first, that twist of discomfort at Mary, gentle Mary, thinking  _ she  _ had done something and this could possibly be  _ her  _ fault. Marisa thought it too, of course, but shoved the feeling down as she shook her head, sadness of her own frosting over her eyes.

“This is for the best, Mary,” she said slowly, allowing just a touch more softness. “I know you can’t see it now. But this is the best thing for the both of us.”

“It’s not,” Mary argued, shaking her head firmly. “A life without you isn’t best for me.”

"I've hurt people before," Marisa said then, voice low and eyes hard. "People I was supposed to love. People I  _ did  _ love. I hurt them. I hurt them all so badly. You don’t want me in your life."

"I don't care," Mary insisted, stepping toward her, foot hesitant and eyes full of  _ feeling.  _ Mary was always full of such pure, unadulterated feeling. Marisa could barely breathe as she basked in all that  _ feeling  _ coursing around them, charged in the air like the very particles they both dedicated their lives trying to understand. "I really don't, Marisa. I want you.  _ All  _ of you." 

"But you shouldn't," Marisa whispered, feeling something hot and stinging threaten to spill from her eyes before she adjusted her bag and stepped onto the train, not looking back at the redhead with the defeated expression and slumped shoulders. 

She handed the train conductor her ticket and ignored the delayed protest coming from behind her. She also ignored the kick from inside her bag and the scrambling happening inside it, moving her other arm to hold the bag securely against her as she tossed her bag in the overhead and then sat down, closing her eyes and hoping Mary wouldn’t rush on board and try to stop her (yet, at the same time, perhaps somehow hoping that she would).

She didn’t, though, which was surprising. Marisa waited, her ears trained to the back of her where boarding was. But nothing. Her daemon started to whimper, but the minutes stretched on and soon Marisa heard someone speaking from the intercom and the train’s engine start up.

And then they were off, toward Paris, toward a new life, and away from Mary and from Oxford and from her last encounter with Lyra and from the portal back to her world and from everything she’d ever known.

**Author's Note:**

> 🥺😭 I don’t know where this angst came from but it wouldn’t leave me alone. Not all is easy in any kind of relationship, especially one as fraught as it would be between Mary and Marisa. Anyway, I know this is different from the usual fluff and softness and science gf adventures. But it’s just yet another tale and take on what could be and what could happen ❤️


End file.
